Caucasian notes by Oleg Kushaty from A to Z. Instead of afterword
It is only due to the position of this letter in the alphabet that I can say "I" one more time in conclusion. As it is, virtually all the cases were described here in the first person singular, the pronoun "I" was present on every page and many times. However, the temptation to tell more about myself more comprehensively than in the previous topics turned out to be irresistible. In the past I often used to write my autobiography. Many various occasions for it occurred- while applying for a job or studies, for various sites and small newspapers. However, all these autobiographies were notable for their bareness and were standard. It even seemed to me that data of this kind are necessary not for emphasizing our peculiarities, but, on the contrary, to create a false impression of our herd similarity. Therefore I bring forward an informal version of my autobiography, although it is far from being complete. I'll give several episodes, which are interesting for me, and which were not included in my previous autobiographies.
I was born in June, 1963, in Beslan, but, according to the regulations then existing, in my birth certificate was written a city where I was registered as a new Soviet citizen. Thus I turned out to be from Vladikavkaz. However, Beslan has always been closer for me – the water in this town is the tastiest for me, the scent of herbs is the balmiest, the people are very dear to me.
I perceived the tragedy of September 2004 as a personal one. Being in Beslan as radio-journalist, several times I was beyond speech, choked by tears. I remember earlier accidentally overhearing a conversation between my mother and my grandmother in our Beslan house about the death of one of their acquaintances. At once I imagined my death and felt a panic terror of tomb darkness. I didn't want to lie pressed by this darkness against in the earth, while the others run above me in the sun, knocking the ball around, bathing in the pond and being merry. However, one can not escape his death and his grave. It was, perhaps, the first real stress in my life. Then I managed to calm myself down and now I recollect that many of those children killed in Beslan School Number One were of the same age. Probably their first real stress and their deaths coincided…
I became aware of myself at the age of 3 years. The wide bed of my great grandmother who broke her leg at over seventy dwells in my memory. She spent several subsequent years virtually immovable. I remember myself being in her arms. Apparently, my tricks and pranks entertained her to some extent, brightening up the twilight of her life.
I had my first romance in kindergarten. It was like some kind of family love, even, without passions, betrayal and reciprocal humiliation. The name of the dark-haired Jewish girl was Rita. For me she became the first person outside my parents' flat that I could understand without either of us having to complete our sentences.
It appears that I knew the worth of the true human attachment too early. However it still helps me to judge men's characters. The first time I met Rita was when I was five – we parted when I was six and a half years old. I'd like to know how her life has been going, but nothing will come of it. I don't remember even her surname, something necessary for finding your “first love" on the social networking "odnoklassniki.ru" website.
I decided on my future profession in 5th form. Journalism was, as I understood it, strictly a newspaper job. As for the rest, I considered magazines, TV, radio and so on just stages in the way to the true journalism at a paper. In the middle of the 1970s I suddenly started to think that the Soviet state would up and abolish all newspapers. Even then the state seemed to me an omnipotent, but madcap, monster. Later, during perestroika, it turned out the other way round - newspapers did a great deal to stifle Soviet power.
At the end of my school education, I was influenced by my Lvov aunt and entered the faculty of journalism of the military and political college due to the efforts of my uncle, who worked at the same college. After the termination of my studentship, I found myself in a military railway newspaper, based in Krasnoyarsk. Two months of officer service were enough for me to understand that I'd made a mistake in choosing my life route. But on the other hand there appeared a new vital goal - to escape for civilian life. It could be only dreamt about in those days. However, sometimes dreams come true - immediately after being promoted to senior lieutenant I managed to retire. But in spite of all this, I am grateful to those who directed me to the military path, because this way led me to myself. And this may be the most important thing in one's life. Experienced people, having examined my palms, said that life is divided into two parts - not according to the number of years lived, but according to content. I think that I passed the boundary between the two halves when I left military life. And then I met my future wife Elena. These things happened almost simultaneously in the same town in the same street. My fate was giving me a readable signal. The palms surely contained all this information. They can tell me much still. But now I hide them from experienced people. Let everything be as it may. For everything in this life is for the better - I've grasped it for sure, having travelled in full along the road of such a huge Russia.
One goes across Russia and the life at the same time. To put it more exactly, the road across Russia bears a strong resemblance to life’s voyage. First one gets to the charged megalopolis with its rich buildings, sparkling limousines and rubbish dumps, with its dumps and dens. At one moment one breaks away to the spaciousness with appeasing birch groves, landscapes puddles of lakes and misty wood thickets. Viewing infrequent hamlets with wooden buildings, one looks with sadness at decrepitating monuments to the Soviet town building, the so-called urban village with shabby slums. Crossing the great rivers by train, one dives in mountain tunnels. Going to the east, one will find himself in powerful taiga with ice-covered rocks. Going to the south one will get to the Black Sea mainline railroad stretching across beaches of Big Sochi. All one's days can be spent travelling all over this country, and it won't be enough to travel all over the country! Caucasus itself is enough! If I manage to persuade you that the Caucasus is inhabited by the noblest and the kindest people, who love Russia and its fine people, then I have not been travelling all over the region in vain.
